Reaching a Resolution
by Helen Palsgraf
Summary: I can't get enough post-TFP stories, so I wrote my own Sherlock/Molly resolution. Complete story! Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome, friends. This is my first Sherlock fic, but I still can't get enough of everyone's post-TFP fics. So here's mine.**

 **Chapter One**

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

Molly initially thought the pounding was inside her head until she heard, "Molly Hooper! It's the Police! We need you to open up!"

She forced herself awake, and looked around to see where she was. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, half-covered with a fuzzy blanket, one mostly covered with cat fur. She squinted to look at her watch in the dark. It was just before 5am.

She pulled the blanket around her and looked out the door. She vaguely recognized the fellow, but she couldn't recall his name. She opened the door.

"What's this about, Sergeant?" she asked, curtly. Blinking herself awake, she noticed he was wearing full body armor. She glanced behind him and noticed his colleagues were as well, and there were police dogs. Her cat won't be pleased by this.

"Dr. Hooper, we're here on orders from DI Lestrade to sweep your home for explosives and illegal surveillance equipment," he said. "For your safety, we need you to vacate the premises as quickly as possible. The sweep is likely to take a few hours."

She gasped when he said "explosives," then nodded, and went to find the cat carrier. Still wearing yesterday's clothes, she simply grabbed an already-packed travel bag and scooped the feline into the carrier, offering a murmured apology to the unhappily meowing cat.

Susan, one of the female uniformed officers, offered to keep the cat carrier in the police van, and promised to set him free in the house and lock up once they were done, if Molly didn't want to stick around.

Molly didn't want to stick around.

First, there was the intrusive phone call from Sherlock yesterday evening. Now, she has to suffer the indignity of a police search of her home. She was told Lestrade would explain everything when he arrived back in London. She wondered what investigation could possibly take him out of London in the first place, and what it has to do with explosives and cameras in her flat.

Her thoughts drifted back to Sherlock. She supposed this had something to do with him. The bizarre phone call followed by potential explosives in her home? She remembered something about a fire in his flat on Baker Street, and that he and Mrs. Hudson would be staying at John's until the damage was repaired. _Yes, this definitely has something to do with Sherlock_. _Bastard._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

By the time Molly arrived at work it was 5:30 am, far too early to be starting her work day, but at least she could justify leaving early, go home and have tea and a nice nap… provided her flat didn't explode in the meantime.

She caught her reflection in the glass of the elevator. She looked exhausted. She felt worse than she looked. After the emotionally-draining conversation with Sherlock, she drank an entire bottle of wine before falling asleep on the couch. Her lingering headache reminded her it hadn't been a great idea. But when had she ever acted in her own best interests when it came to Sherlock? She took some ibuprofen and drank plenty of water before hitting the locker room shower at the hospital. She laughed bitterly at the idea that she used to be concerned about showering in the locker room, because there wasn't secure access and anybody might install a camera in one of the stalls. She choked down a sob and quickly finished in the shower.

Three hours later, she breathed a sigh of relief when she finally received a text from Susan that her flat was cleared, no explosives, and her cat was safely back in her flat (and had been fed his breakfast). She would bring her keys to her at St. Bart's after her shift. She noticed Susan didn't mention surveillance equipment. Molly didn't press her for information; she wasn't sure she was mentally ready to know.

"Molly!" Greg Lestrade greeted her just before lunchtime. "I'm glad to see you're safe and sound."

"Why was it a possibility I wouldn't be, exactly?" she sighed, removing her goggles as she stepped away from the sample she was working on. She glanced at her watch. She realized she hadn't eaten all day, but she was still not particularly hungry.

"I guess Sherlock didn't phone you? I suppose he was a bit preoccupied," he frowned.

Molly shrugged sadly. She wouldn't expect explaining anything to her would be a priority for Sherlock. She wasn't surprised he was behind her early morning evacuation, however; she'd already decided that was obvious.

"He said it was just a precaution. Said there were definitely surveillance cameras. He didn't believe there to actually be explosives, but it was better safe than sorry when it came to your safety. He said… he said the words you'd exchanged yesterday were to keep you safe, but we had to make sure you were still safe. Does that make any sense?"

Molly cringed. _The words_. So telling him she loved him was to keep her safe? From whom? What enemy would have harmed her, unless she declared her love for the consulting detective?

"It makes sense, well, at least as much sense as Sherlock Holmes ever makes, I suppose. Thank you, Greg, for coming here to explain."

"Well, Sherlock and his brother will be with their parents, and John should just now be returning home. I'm sure you'll get more answers soon enough. Also, you should know that we have a body coming in for you to process from a site just outside Musgrave Manor, the old Holmes estate, a child's skeletal remains. He would have died around 35 years ago."

"The Holmes estate?" Molly frowned again.

"Yeah, apparently the child was his friend. We suspect the cause of death was exposure. The remains were found at the bottom of a well by John Watson. The well was supposed to be John's grave too."

"Heavens," Molly sighed. "But John's all right?"

"Yeah, we got him out all right. Sherlock's lunatic sister had chained him at the bottom of it."

"Sister? What sister?" she gasped.

"Exactly. Apparently Sherlock didn't know she existed until just recently either. It's a long story, I'm sure they'll tell you all the details soon enough. I don't know them all myself, just the highlights, really. I'll tell you all I know, but mind if we head down and grab a bite? It's been a long night, and I haven't eaten."

She nodded, hung up her lab coat, and washed her hands.

A sister. A murderous sister who tried to kill John. In the same place a child was killed? Did she also kill the child? Molly's head was swimming with too many facts she could not reconcile as well as the lingering wine headache. She was grateful Greg asked her to lunch, not wanting to be in the lab any longer.

They headed downstairs to the hospital cafeteria. The food was pretty decent, and convenient, for hospital employees and busy police inspectors. Once at lunch, she began to ask the questions she wasn't sure she wanted to know, which was about the surveillance cameras.

"There were three of them, one in your kitchen, one in your sitting room, and one in your bedroom."

"My bedroom?" Molly gasped, her eyes filling with tears. "Where did they come from? Who was watching? How long have they been there?"

"I don't have the answers to those questions, exactly, but I expect it has to the do with the Holmes's sister. Moriarty was her associate."

"Jim Moriarty? Did he put them…?" she trailed off weakly.

"I don't know, Molly," he said quietly.

She picked at her sandwich without much appetite. How much had those cameras recorded? Would she find herself on the internet, on some revenge porn site? Having sex with Tom? Or worse? How many times had she said Sherlock's name in that bedroom when she was alone, imagining his hands on her body instead of her own? Is that why she was targeted? Is that why whoever it was knew she was in love with Sherlock? Is that what the phone call was about?

Her eyes began to fill with tears, and her chest felt tight.

"Hey," Greg said softly. "It's going to be all right."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip and fighting back the tears. Greg put a hand on hers and squeezed. She took deep breaths until the panic subsided, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. We'll make sure your privacy is protected. You know Sherlock and John will do everything they can to help too. Sherlock seemed very concerned about you. I know he's been an arsehole to you in the past, but he doesn't want to see you hurt."

She laughed bitterly, wiping furiously at her tears. "A bit late for that."

"I know, Molly," he said, sadly. "I know."

She cleared her throat and steadied herself. "Well. Nothing to be done about it all now, is there? I suppose I should get back to the lab, where I actually have some control over the outcome."

Greg smiled sympathetically. "Don't work too hard, Molly. Be sure to get some rest."

"You too, Greg. You look as rough as I feel."

He laughed and bid her goodbye.

She returned to the lab and settled back into her work and tried not to dwell on the fact that not only had she been laid emotionally bare in front of Sherlock, she was probably physically bared to the world on the internet. _Dwelling won't help to keep lunch down, now will it?_ she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After lunch, Molly had continued working late in the lab. She had wanted to leave early to take a nap but she found she was not eager to go home, the very idea of going home making her feel sick to her stomach. With her privacy violated, she didn't feel particularly safe at home. So she did what she always does when she's avoiding her personal life, which is stay at work.

However, when the doors to her lab swung open, she immediately wished she'd retreated home.

"Dr. Hooper, you are certainly here late this evening," Mycroft Holmes commented, as though it was obvious that she would be. She wondered if he deduced it, or if he knew because he was spying on her.

"Yeah, well, my home isn't what it used to be," Molly replied bitterly, at the reminder of unwanted surveillance.

"Indeed. On the bright side, it didn't explode with you in it, so that is a quality to appreciate about it," he replied, more gently than she expected from him. As though that was any sort of comfort. The pity in his voice just served to infuriate her more.

"Why are you here, Mycroft?" she snapped, slamming her notebook down on the table.

He wasn't put off by the rage in her eyes. She suspected he was accustomed to people being aggrieved by him. "I'm trying to make amends for the damage I inadvertently caused. How much of the narrative have you heard thus far?"

She took a deep breath to calm herself down. "From what I can gather, someone, that is, your sister, or Moriarty, or someone connected to them, placed surveillance cameras in my home. Sherlock had to get me to admit to loving him, or else I would be killed, presumably through the use of explosives. John was placed in a well by your sister that Sherlock never knew existed, and John found the remains of a child in that well, who was Sherlock's childhood friend. I'm assuming your sister had something to do with that as well. Since you're here now to make amends, I assume you mean responsibility for your sister. Did you lock her away and then accidentally set her loose?"

"Well, you've deduced all of that quite well, Dr. Hooper. No wonder my brother thinks so highly of you," he said.

She flushed with anger. "Hardly. He thinks nothing of me at all, really, other than when I'm useful. And I assume, if you're here now, it's because you find me useful too."

"Dr. Hooper, I assure you, I want nothing from you, other than hoping you'll forgive me, and my brother, our transgressions."

She stared at him, waiting.

He sighed, and began the story of Eurus, her imprisonment, her escape, and her game.

"I have a little gift for you," he pulled a flash drive from his pocket. "It's classified, but you have the clearance to view it. It's the surveillance footage from the room we were in when Sherlock called you yesterday evening, the other side of your phone call. It may be painful to watch, but it will explain the situation in better detail than I could ever tell it. Also, I assure you, all footage of you recorded by my sister and her associates has been destroyed and my brother has not viewed any of it, save for during yesterday's phone call."

She took the flash drive from him, and put it into her lab coat without saying anything.

"But you've viewed it," she said, her expression a mix of anger, shame and vulnerability.

He shook his head. "I can assure you, I did not. I had a very trusted associate, a female, review the recordings, sound off, in high speed, just to confirm each one contained what it was labeled. It was not very much footage, the cameras had just recently been placed, about two weeks prior, I assume by my sister herself during her latest outings. While it had to be reviewed, I did my very best to respect your privacy, and no information other than 'confirmation of footage from the home of Molly Hooper' shall appear in any report."

She covered her mouth to suppress the sob of relief that surfaced.

He looked at her with pity. "I am so very sorry for what my sister has put you through. What my brother and I have put you through. It was never my intention to put you in harm's way, or anyone else, in my handling of Eurus. I made grave mistakes, which have cost lives, and I take responsibility for that. My intent was to save lives, and lives were saved, but there was a great cost to using Eurus I had not anticipated.

"But Sherlock isn't to blame. He feels more than he realizes, he has just become adept at suppressing it. Just as he suppressed all memory of Eurus, although he was quite young when she was sent away; only five years old. Our parents and I are to blame for that, with what happened with Eurus, and to Victor, the poor lad, his childhood friend. Go easy on him, Molly, please, I beg you."

Molly was caught off guard by the tenderness in Mycroft's voice. Mycroft was always cold and calculating, even when it came to his brother.

"Mycroft…"

He turned and looked at her, and although he was still the same cold, arrogant man he always was, something had shifted. His shoulders slumped, he looked emotionally exhausted, he looked… ashamed.

"For what it's worth, I don't think you'd ever do anything on purpose to hurt Sherlock. He'll forgive you, you know he will. And… thank you for destroying the footage. I feel tremendously better knowing it's all gone."

"That is very kind of you to say, Dr. Hooper. Good evening," he nodded in understand, turning and walking away.

She retreated into her office and locked the door. She pulled up her computer, put on a pair of headphones, and inserted the flash drive. She took a deep breath, readying herself to relive that phone call.

She saw a coffin meant for her, and the look of dread on Sherlock's face when he realized it was such. She saw herself projected on a screen. She saw his look of desperation as he watched the clock ticking down. She watched him tell her he loved her in a way that, if she didn't know any better, she would have believed was heartfelt. She watched his cold, confident facade crumble as he realized she was never in danger, that he had hurt her for nothing. She watched the way he broke down and destroyed that coffin with his bare hands. She watched John pull him up to move on to the next cruel game. The screen went black.

Molly removed the flash drive and placed it in her pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Despite an even heavier-than-usual rainfall, Molly decided she couldn't remain in the hospital any longer. After viewing the other side of the phone call, she needed to get out, get some air, clear her head. She slipped on a poncho and rain boots she had stored in her locker, grabbed her umbrella, and exited St. Bart's. She soon realized instead of heading to her own house, she was walking in the direction of John's house instead.

It was just as well she ended up there. She wanted to check on him, and she could definitely use some snuggle time with Rosie. Rosie snuggles made everything in the world better. She held her breath as she knocked, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be there. Not ready yet to face him, she was relieved to find he wasn't.

John opened the door and, after she had discarded her wet poncho and umbrella, he gave her a heartfelt hug. He made them tea while she bounced a chipper Rosie on her knee, and listened patiently as he retold the story she had already heard from Mycroft's perspective. He had been lucky to escape without any injuries, with the weather warm enough to not risk hypothermia. It had been an emotional ordeal for him as well, as he confided that he felt guilty for the death of the Governor's wife, as though he had pulled the trigger himself. Molly hugged him tightly, and assured him that, based on what she had heard of Sherlock's sister and her games, the Governor's wife was already marked for death.

She was grateful he refrained from being an apologist for Sherlock's phone call. She and John had long ago learned to not make excuses or apologies for Sherlock's behavior to one another, but to merely listen. But since it was getting late and it was time for Rosie to go to bed, she refrained from bringing it up at all. Instead, she decided she couldn't put off going home any longer, kissed little Rosie on the forehead, hugged John and shouted a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, who had retired to the guest room to watch her evening telly.

The rain had calmed considerably, she noted, as she opened the door, just a gentle rain continued to fall. She was fumbling with her umbrella as she was stepping off of John's stoop, when she, literally, ran into Sherlock.

"Molly," he gasped, as he grabbed her arms to steady her balance. She involuntarily shrank from his touch and he immediately took a step back. She'd never seen him look quite so terrified of speaking to her. Normally he was cool and arrogant, sometimes groveling insincerely when he needed something, and often invading her personal space. But never nervous. He had truly suffered a great trauma to be so off balance.

"I... I'm sorry, I want you to know that I would never intentionally hurt you, I mean, not now, at least, I know I've been a right bastard in the past, but Molly, I would never do so now. I swear to you, I wasn't mocking you…"

She silenced him with a shake of her head and said solemnly, "I know. I believe you."

He nodded. "John told you everything?"

"No, I already knew. Since you were too busy to call today," she said, shooting him a cold look that she quite was pleased he actually withered under, "I pieced together most of it myself, between the police searching my house for explosives and surveillance cameras at 5am, confirmation of surveillance cameras in my house by Greg Lestrade, then Mycroft came by the lab this evening to fill in the rest of the blanks." She still stared up at him coldly and waited for him to continue.

"Mycroft?" He sounded surprised. Was it possible the great consulting detective had failed to predict his own brother's actions?

"Yes, he gave me the surveillance video from your phone call," she said, in a voice so cold that it even gave her the chills.

His shoulders sank. "I wish you hadn't seen it." He ran a hand over his face, then winced with pain.

"How are your hands anyway?" she asked, not reaching out like she normally would to examine them herself.

"And you saw what happened after," he said, looking slightly aghast.

"I did see what happened after," she nodded, again, keeping a poker face. She knew he was having difficulty reading her, making him uncomfortable for once. "You should keep those wounds clean; the wood splinters imbedded in the skin could cause an infection. Have John take care of that for you."

"Molly… the thought of you in that coffin… I couldn't stand to leave it there intact," he said in a shaky voice.

She frowned. "Did that thought bother you because you care about my well-being, or because you would feel guilty it was your fault for losing the game?"

He looked hurt at that. "Of course, I care."

"It wouldn't be your fault, after all. You can hardly be held responsible for Eurus. Or Mycroft for that matter."

"You don't believe me that I care?" If she didn't know better, she would think him genuinely hurt.

Her demeanor softened, and her voice lowered. "It's okay. I've come to terms with it. Did better when I didn't have to admit my one-sided feelings for you, but that can hardly be undone."

"It's my fault you don't believe I care for you. I've not treated you well enough in the past, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry for that as well," he said solemnly.

"I appreciate that, I really do," she answered, sincerely.

Taking a sudden breath, she continued. "Well. I had better get home. Assess what sort of damage Lestrade's people did to my flat this morning, and see if I can possibly sleep at all, while I look for a new place to live where my privacy and safety haven't been endangered. Goodnight, Sherlock."

She turned and walked briskly down the street. She was proud of herself that she managed to turn the corner before tears streamed down her face, mixing with the cool rain, and had not turned to look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"She didn't yell at me, she didn't cry, she was… cold... distant," Sherlock explained, head in his hands, as the rain dripped off of him.

"Maybe she's having trouble processing it all," John offered.

"She's processing it. Eyes red and puffy, she's cried at various points throughout the day. She's notably upset about the invasion of her privacy and the threat to her life. But as for me... she doesn't believe I care for her, she thinks I'd simply feel guilty if she had died because of me."

"Is she right?" John asked, scrubbing at the spit-up from Rosie on his shirt.

"John, not you too? Do you really think I'm so cold and unfeeling that I don't actually care about Molly or her feelings?"

"The high-functioning sociopath?" John teased.

"Yes, yes, I lack empathy, so I'm aware. But for a woman who has done so much for me?"

"She's not 'The' woman, though, is she? I admit, your relationship with Molly has changed a lot since I first met you, when you were barely aware she existed other than as a resource in the morgue. But she'll never be to you what she wants to be to you."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean, John, do speak plainly, it's been a long few days," Sherlock sighed.

"She wants you to love her the way she loves you. Except she's painfully aware that isn't going to happen," John shook his head.

Sherlock sighed. "She wants a… boyfriend. Someone like… Tom," he said, spitting out the name like it was bitter, "someone who will do boring things people do in boring relationships. She would be greatly disappointed in the reality of Sherlock Holmes, versus the desire she has for an idealized romantic interest."

"Sherlock, has it ever occurred to you that Molly knows exactly who you are, and what you're capable of giving and not giving, and yet, she loves you anyway? Maybe she doesn't have any unreasonable expectations of you at all. I know you'd be a rubbish boyfriend. You're a rubbish roommate too. Rubbish house guest, especially," John pointed to the puddle of water on the floor at his feet. "People who love you accept you as you are, they don't expect you to be someone you aren't."

"That's right, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson came in with Rosie to say goodnight before she put her down for the evening. "Heaven knows if I could turn you into someone you aren't, I would turn you into someone who doesn't fire bullets at my walls when they're bored and someone who doesn't store body parts in my refrigerator. However, I love you anyway, just the way you are."

Sherlock kissed Rosie on the head, bidding her goodnight, and smiled down at Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he said sincerely.

"Give Molly some time, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "She will forgive you, and things will be back to normal soon enough."

Sherlock nodded. "Normal."

As John retired to his room, Sherlock made himself comfortable on the couch. As tired as he felt, he still didn't think he would sleep.

Was it possible John was right? Would Molly be happy to just know her love was reciprocated, but expect nothing from him? Would she be happy in a relationship where he disappeared for days, maybe even weeks on end, never remembered birthdays or anniversaries or even the day of the week, and his idea of a romantic encounter was chasing down a criminal? Would she be satisfied being merely an occasional mistress, while he's married to his work?

Molly's last relationship was perfectly normal. A standing Saturday night date, someone to watch telly with while eating takeout the rest of the week. Someone who asks about her feelings. Mostly because they can't already deduce what sort of day she's had, just simply by the state of her hair and makeup. How someone who claimed to love Molly couldn't tell she's had a particularly upsetting case that day, by the fact that while trying to prevent herself from crying, she had repeatedly held tissues on her eyes and rubbed eye-shadow from them, escapes him. He knows she'd go home and make a cup of tea and if that didn't work, on the worst nights, would drink wine. When she's frustrated, her hair becomes disheveled, because she runs her left hand through it and tugs. How many times had he walked into the morgue and found her making a mess of her hair? He'd say, "Molly, how can I be of service?" And she would give him a distracted smile and he would just listen as she'd tell him what the issue was. Normally, in the middle of it, Molly would figure out the answer herself. And when she's happy, she…

The realization struck him. He knows Molly to a level beyond mere observation. More so, he finds he actually responds to her emotions. He brought her the wine for the last bad case, a house fire that killed four children. He saw a news alert about it, knew Molly was working, and had the bottle sitting in the kitchen open to breathe for when she got home. What even compelled him to do that? Beyond that though, he wouldn't have known how to make her feel better; in fact, he probably would have said something to make her feel worse, so he left.

He wonders if that's enough for Molly? To have of him what little he's capable of giving? Isn't she already disappointed, however? Loving him, but believing he doesn't even care about her at all? That if she'd died, all he would've felt was guilt, not grief? How had he led her to believe that to be true? She matters so much to him, in a way he doesn't think he'll ever fully understand himself.

 _How do I make her understand what I barely understand myself?_

He looked at his phone. 23:30. After the day Molly's had, she ought to be asleep. He ought to be asleep as well. He suspects though, she can't sleep. She even said as much, didn't she? The cameras in her flat, those would've bothered her more than any possibility of explosives. She doesn't feel safe now, he realizes, being stripped of her privacy. She feels violated. By him, by his sister, by the police.

Pulling on his coat, he hopes he isn't making a mistake. He hails a cab to Molly's, and sure enough, when he arrives the lights are still on.

He walks up to the door, and his first instinct is to let himself in like he always does, but he thinks better of it. He pulls out his phone and sends her a text he recognizes immediately as an unintentional double entendre.

 _Molly, I'm here. Let me in?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It's only a few moments before he hears the bolts turn on the door, and it opens slightly. He can't quite make out her face in the dark, but when she speaks, he realizes she's been crying, her voice heavy.

"Why are you here, Sherlock?"

He should have planned better what he'd say. "I...wanted to make sure you were okay," he finally settled on.

"I'm fine. I was just sleeping." A lie.

"I'm sorry to have woken you up. Could I come in? Please?" he asked gently.

She sighed. She held the door open for him and then locked it back behind him.

"Please, just say whatever it is you came to say. I need to sleep," she said briskly.

"I know, I do too. I just… couldn't possibly go to sleep without telling you you're wrong," he said.

She bristled at that. "Oh, please, do enlighten me."

Sherlock began pacing nervously about her kitchen. "You're wrong thinking that I don't care. I care very much about you, Molly. You watched the footage of me destroying the coffin. I know what you must think. You have it wrong though. It wasn't about the game. It wasn't about being angry that Eurus had deceived me, it wasn't just about feeling guilty I'd put you in danger just by association, or even guilty I'd hurt your feelings. I… I can't tell you exactly all that I felt in that moment, because I don't even understand it myself, but I needed that coffin not to exist. I needed you to be safe. She'd threatened you and I thought you were going to die, and I did a terrible thing to you, believing I was saving you, when all I did was hurt you. Emotions clouded my judgment. The threat to your life clouded my judgment. I should've known she didn't have your flat wired with explosives. And I would've known had it not been you she threatened.

"Molly, I'm sorry I didn't figure it out. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry my siblings are both such a nightmare, Mycroft especially. But mostly I'm sorry that you didn't believe me when I said that I love you."

He felt her head snap up to look at him, and he stopped pacing to move closer to her. Her eyes searched him for deeper meaning, and she had never looked more vulnerable.

"Because, Molly Hooper, I do love you," he whispered, as tears spilled from her eyes.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

He took her left wrist and held it. He could feel her heart racing at her pulse point. "I know you don't believe me. I have a lot of work to do to earn your trust. And maybe one day I'll say it, and you'll actually believe me. But I needed to tell you it's true. I didn't even realize it until I thought I was going to lose you, which makes me a complete arsehole, I know."

Still gripping her arm, he used his left hand to gently wipe the tears off her face. She'd done so much crying, her eyes were no longer puffy, just red. He'd caused that, he knew.

"I don't know what this means for us. I have a lot to figure out, with Eurus, with piecing my memories back together, dealing with my emotions. I suspect, as John so eloquently opined this evening, I would make a 'rubbish boyfriend.' I apparently make a rubbish friend too. But in the meantime, I'm going to work on being a better friend, so maybe it wouldn't be out of the question that I could be 'not rubbish' in a relationship someday."

Molly, having found her voice, asked wryly, "Any ideas on how you'll do that?"

"Absolutely no idea," he grinned. She laughed.

"Perhaps you could tell me. Tell me what you need from me, and I will do my very best," he said gently, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it lightly.

She smiled. "Some of your time, on occasion, would be nice. You know, do that friend stuff you mentioned."

"I am at your disposal. What would you suggest?" he asked brightly.

"I don't really have any ideas. But we could try doing something that doesn't involve cases, body parts, or even our mutual friends."

"Hm. That does narrow it down quite a bit, eliminating all of our favorite mutual hobbies. A concert, perhaps?"

She smiled. "That sounds lovely."

"There is an upcoming performance of Pablo de Sarasate. I normally prefer German composers, but I'm feeling… particularly introspective at the moment. Next Sunday afternoon?"

"I can do that, yes."

"Splendid," he said, quickly ordering the tickets through his smartphone. He placed the device back into his pocket."I am very grateful you're willing to give me a chance to prove myself."

"Sherlock, you don't have to prove anything to me. I believe you're being sincere."

"Yes, but you don't believe me capable of being the things you need," he replied.

She sighed. "Assuming you're correct in your assessment of 'what I need,' do you even want to be those things?"

He looked at her tenderly. "I want to be. I don't know yet whether I can be, but I'm willing to try to be better. I will start with being punctual, which is what a good friend would do, and I'll pick you up here at noon next Sunday."

She nodded, giving him a little smile. "Okay."

He smiled. "Okay. I should get home. We both need sleep. Goodnight, Molly."

"Goodnight," she said, walking him to the door.

Before he stepped over the threshold, he turned and kissed Molly gently on the cheek.

He left, and she locked the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _What the hell was that?_ she thought, unable to sleep, but staring at her ceiling.

Did Sherlock Holmes really come to her flat to tell her he loved her? To tell her he's essentially not made for relationships, but that he wanted to figure out how he might be? And he's taking her to an orchestral performance? Introspective, he'd called it. Not a date, but an outing with a friend. Even so, she needs a new dress and a trip to the salon.

She doesn't know what to think, but obviously whatever transpired concerning his sister, has profoundly affected him. She isn't sure she believes his feelings for her are what he claims, however. She honestly hadn't seen a lot of him since Mary died. She'd been helping John a lot with Rosie, and John didn't want Sherlock to come round. She thinks back to his more recent behavior towards her, though. He'd been on good behavior since his near overdose to win back John's affections. He had gambled everything to help John, on Mary's instructions - his sobriety, his safety, his health, his reputation, and even their friendship. He knew how angry and scared she'd been, and he'd done his share of walking on egg shells waiting for things to heal between them. He had been groveling fairly well, doing things like leaving a bottle of wine when he knew she'd had a bad day. No, she doesn't believe he loves her, not like she wants him to, at least. She couldn't deny, however, how his touch made her feel. She knows how weak she is when it comes to him, how it doesn't matter that this is probably the path to certain heartbreak, she's going to travel it anyway.

She wants to believe him though. Wants to believe that after all these years, that he finally sees her as an equal, as a potential partner. Not as some mousy little lab rat who is useful in assisting him. Because that's what it comes down to for Sherlock, isn't it? He doesn't see himself as one who has peers, which is why he's alone. Frankly, she's surprised he didn't end up shagging Jim Moriarty simply because he was his match in intellect and cunning, as he very obviously did Irene Adler.

If it's one thing she's certain of, however, it's that she's going to continue to stand her ground with Sherlock, and set firm boundaries. She won't be an afterthought, she won't be his experiment, and she certainly won't throw away their hard-earned friendship for an experimental shag… well, she's pretty sure, at least. Oh damn it all, she probably would anyway, but who could blame her, truly?

She closed her eyes and let herself begin to drift off to sleep, thinking of what prospects might be ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Molly was slightly uncomfortable by all of the attention they were receiving. Sherlock had guilted Mycroft into upgrading their tickets to box seats, a perk she had never indulged in before. But here she finds herself sipping champagne, on the arm of Sherlock Holmes, something that draws a great deal of attention. She realizes photos are being snapped from phones. The new dress was a good investment then. For the matinee performance, she had chosen a tea length, cream-colored satin dress, with spaghetti straps and a bit of a plunging neckline, a significant departure from her usual conservative wardrobe. She knew it didn't do her bosom any favors, but she still felt pretty, and the confidence mattered more anyway. She was determined not to be intimidated by being on the arm of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and the object of her multi-year crush. They were just friends, after all.

Sherlock was wearing a suit he must have just picked up (considering his flat had exploded and he was still replacing personal items), with a deep purple shirt and even darker purple tie. His hair was messy as usual.

Molly enjoyed the concert, and was thoroughly moved by the music, but not to the same depths as Sherlock. She could see the music had affected him. He was dealing with a lot of emotions, a lifetime of emotions, all at once. When he closed his eyes during the performance, any other onlooker would have believed him asleep. Molly knew better. He had slipped into his mind palace, simultaneously deconstructing the music and the emotions it elicited. When the performance ended, she brought him back to reality, and he helped her to her feet for the standing ovation.

He guided her through the crowds with a hand around her waist, as intimate as he'd ever been with her. _Do friends do that?_ she wondered. If she were here with John instead, would she be feeling his warm palm through the thin material of her dress?

Sherlock hailed a cab outside of the theatre, and helped her inside. She had shared many a cab with him before, and he never so much as held the door open for her, let alone held her hand to help her in. Of course, she was wearing a pair of dangerous stiletto heels and a dress that shimmied up mid-thigh when she sat down. It wasn't her normal attire.

"Where to?"

Sherlock gave the driver an address she didn't recognize. She looked at him with eyebrows raised in question.

"I thought I'd take you for a coffee," he said, squeezing her hand.

They soon arrived in front of a small French café. It was completely empty when they walked in, and they sat in a dark corner booth. She couldn't help but feel all of this was more of a date than an outing with a friend.

"Did you enjoy the concert, Molly?" he asked, after they ordered drinks.

"I did, very much so. The musicians sounded quite good to my largely untrained ears. How did you find them?"

"Rather well, actually. It was an interesting interpretation of the piece…"

Molly sipped her tea contentedly while she listened to Sherlock dissect the performance.

"I apologize, I'm certain I'm boring you."

"Not at all. In fact, I really enjoy hearing you speak about music. You never really talk about it. Of course, mostly our conversations involve lab work. It's nice to hear you so passionate about something other than cases."

"Am I so dull, then?" he smiled.

"Dull could never be a word used to describe you," she laughed.

"You don't play any instruments now, but you used to," he observed.

"Clarinet. I even played some in uni. But hardly any time for it being a doctor. It's sitting in my closet gathering dust."

"Perhaps we can play some duets."

"I don't think I'd meet your standards, I haven't touched it in years, and I wasn't much good when I did play. Never practiced enough."

"I find practicing helps with my work."

She smiled, knowing all about his late-night practicing. "Well, if things continue to remain calm, perhaps I'll pick it up again. Hm. Do you plan to teach Rosie how to play violin?"

"I hadn't considered it. I was very young when I began playing, apparently my sister taught me, something I didn't remember until recently. If John finds it acceptable, I could mentor Rosamund, certainly."

"John would like that, I'm sure. He likes your playing, he's always said."

"Has he? I thought he merely tolerated it."

"At times. When you were sawing angrily at it in the middle of the night. But he does enjoy it very much. It's one of the things he missed most when you were gone those two years."

Sherlock sat pensive for a moment.

"A tutor for Rosamund would be best, and I could oversee her practice. She could start the following winter."

"Yes, I think John would greatly appreciate that. Music lessons for young children are very beneficial, but a great deal of work for the parents, I'm told."

He nodded. "John has so much to deal with, now that Mary's gone."

"Yes. It'll be up to us to always be there to help him, as her godparents," she agreed.

After a moment, she frowned. "Sherlock…" she began, unsure how to continue.

"You have a criticism to make, Molly, don't be afraid to speak your mind," he observed.

"It's just that, last week, Rosie could've lost her father too," Molly frowned into her cup.

Sherlock nodded. "I tried to talk him out of going to Sherrinford with Mycroft and me. But he wouldn't stay behind, even when I made the same observation about Rosie. He said she'd be taken care of if something happened to him."

"Yes, John did some extensive estate planning for Rosie after Mary died. She'll be well-cared for financially."

"And well-cared for by her godmother. You'll be her guardian, I assume?"

She nodded. "I have a copy of his Will, just in case."

"Well, I will do my very best to make sure it stays locked in a drawer for many decades. With Moriarty still dead, his network dismantled, Mary's enemies no longer a threat, and my sister back where she belongs, I think I can consider my company significantly safer than in years' past."

"Good. I hope that safety extends to you as well," she said, smiling.

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I plan to take very good care of myself from now on."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Things with Sherlock had fallen back into a more normal routine over the next six months, with him returning to her lab to work, and sweeping in and out of the morgue during cases. But what was not normal was the extra attention he paid her. He brought her coffee, and not just when he needed a favor. He was often more physically attentive, a hand on her back, a squeeze of her hand, brushing hair from her face when it came out of her ponytail.

And they had continued to see one another outside of cases, even outside of dinners with John, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson, and occasionally Greg. Not often, of course, with their respective work commitments, but the occasional concert or theatre performance, a coffee date, and surprising to Molly, even a dinner that wasn't take-away chips. They would speak about topics other than work, even other than their mutual friends.

But this was a new one. She had gone to his parents' home for afternoon tea. They were in Sussex for the week for a forensics conference. Molly needed the hours for accreditation, and when she mentioned it to Sherlock, he surprisingly decided it might be useful for him as well. A world renowned expert would be attending, and he wanted to get audience with him after his lecture. But, he insisted, they wouldn't be able to get away with being in Sussex without a visit to his parents.

"Mummy would hear of it from Mycroft, and then never let me forget it," he'd said.

"You'll come too, of course," he'd also said. "She wouldn't forgive me that either."

So, it was settled. Molly would finally meet the parents of the infamous Holmes' siblings, who were shockingly normal compared to the children they'd produced. She assumed they all must be adopted, and their real parents locked away in an insane asylum.

"My parents are very deceptive. Father is a respected pharmacist, and Mummy an accomplished mathematician. They just manage the social skills their children all lack."

"Oh? Mycroft seems polished enough. Quite lovely, actually," she teased.

He glared at her as she laughed.

"And I think you've made tremendous improvements," she smiled up at him, as they walked back on the unusually sunny day in the English countryside.

"Have I?" he asked softly.

She linked her arm in his. "You really have. I enjoy your company very much. Have you enjoyed it? Has it been boring to you, spending time with me outside of work?"

"Of course I've enjoyed your company very much, and I'm having a splendid time here with you now," he said, putting a hand on hers. Molly felt her face blush warm, and knew it wasn't just the sunshine.

"My mother likes you very much, by the way," he said a few moments later.

"She's lovely, both your parents are. Thank you for bringing me today."

"As I said, Mummy would never forgive me if I didn't. She does enjoy meeting those who are important to me. She adores John and Rosie. And she did Mary too of course. She regularly phones Mrs. Hudson to check up on me. She's been wanting to meet you for awhile."

"She knew I existed?"

"Of course. As I told you, Molly, you've been very important to me for a long time."

Molly nodded.

He looked down at her. "Do you believe me yet?"

"Hm? About what?"

"My feelings for you, Molly."

"Oh," she said, taken aback. "I… believe you're sincere. I don't think you've been nice to me just to get me to forgive the past. You had been on better behavior even before your sister appeared."

"But do you believe me? That I love you?"

Molly frowned and stopped walking then. It was the first time he'd brought it up since their conversation after the call.

"What does that mean to you, Sherlock?"

"It's a deep affection for someone I greatly admire, respect, and depend on. Who is more than just a friend or colleague or companion, someone I would do anything for."

"Okay. You could easily be describing John or Mrs. Hudson, your parents. Probably not Mycroft, but I know you love him anyway."

He laughed. "Possibly."

"I believe you when you say you love me. I think the fact you were willing to destroy your relationship with me to try to save my life, shows you do care. I see now, I was being unfair when I accused you otherwise." She sighed. "But what I want to know is, Sherlock, can love ever mean more than that for you? Can it mean passion? Devotion?"

He stood thinking for a moment, giving her question a great deal of consideration before answering.

"What I think you're asking is, do I feel those things for you? Molly, I think it's quite obvious I do. The question you should be asking though, is if I'm capable of being what you want me to be in such a role."

"You assume you know what I want you to be."

"Then perhaps you can explain, so we have no misconceptions."

"I don't want to change you, Sherlock. I love you. The way you are. The way you absorb yourself into a case, the way your brilliant mind works, even when you're being an insensitive git," she grinned. "The way you protect the people you love, even to the detriment of your own health and safety, which also terrifies and infuriates me, but I know I can't change that either. I have never been happier than I've been the past few months, because I've had you in my life. Yes, you disappear into a case for days or weeks on end. You show up at my flat in the middle of the night to ask my opinion on some piece of evidence. But you left an open bottle of wine on my kitchen counter the day I autopsied a child the same age as Rosie. You actually picked up the phone when I called you last week, the time I had to drop Rosie with you because I got called in to work. You've treated me with respect and kindness, and been a better friend than I could hope to have. Sherlock, that's almost everything I want from you."

"And what more do you want from me, Molly Hooper?"

She took a deep breath took a step forward into his personal space. He was a head taller than her. She reached up and caressed his face. "Can you give me intimacy?"

He closed his eyes at the feel of her touch and concentrated on his responses. He felt her warmth, her softness, yet also her strength.

"You're asking if I can be physically intimate as well as emotionally?" he asked, not opening his eyes, but wrapping his arms around her.

"Are you capable?" she asked, as he buried his face into her hair, breathing her in deeply.

"Molly," he whispered, and felt her shiver.

He withdrew his face from her hair and looked down at her. He'd only seen her look so vulnerable on one occasion, and that was on a television screen while he was speaking to her on the phone.

He suddenly grinned at her. In a low, seductive voice, he told her, "I am very capable."

Then he kissed her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

She had never been kissed the way she was being kissed by Sherlock Holmes. He was not kidding when he said he was capable of intimacy.

She should have been embarrassed being snogged senseless like some teenager in the middle of town in broad daylight, where any of her colleagues might see them, but she was too far gone.

When he finally broke away from her, her lips were swollen, her chest was heaving, and just the look of her made him want her more.

"Molly," he said, far more calmly than he felt. "Unless I'm mistaken, we are not required to return to the conference until 7:30 this evening for the key note speaker and banquet, and it is only 5 o'clock now. Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere private."

She nodded. She slipped her arm back into his and they walked back to the inn.

Without speaking, he pressed the lift button for his floor, and they walked to his room. He managed to open the door without his hand shaking, let her inside, and closed and locked the door behind him.

"Molly," he said, looking down at her with a great deal of heat. "I don't really want to continue talking."

She exhaled and gave a small smile. "I don't think there's anything more to discuss, do you?"

He began kissing her neck and unbuttoning her blouse. "Contraception?"

"Handled. Most recent STI screen?" she said, beginning work on his pants.

"Last month, clean. You?"

"Six months, same."

"I do have condoms, if you still prefer."

"Oh? Planned on getting lucky then?" she grinned as his mouth trailed across her collar bone and down her chest.

"I did, but Dr. Gutierrez didn't seem all that interested. I think I came on too strong with him in his session yesterday."

She laughed. "Mm. Shame. But you are an acquired taste, I do think."

"Have you acquired a taste for me, Dr. Hooper?" he asked, unhooking her brassiere.

"I believe so, yes, Mr. Holmes," she said, relieving him of his shirt, and straddling him on the king size hotel bed.

He kissed her hard, massaging her pert breast with his right hand.

"It's quite mutual," he said, as they worked on removing the last of their clothing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Anderson swears he saw them together. Having a snog," Greg Lestrade said, ordering another beer.

"Huh. News to me. Although…" John pondered into his half-full pint. "Back at Sherrinford, I've never seen him lose control like he did when he destroyed that coffin intended for Molly. And before that, when she made him say 'I love you' first, well, either he's a damned good liar, which, of course he is, but... there was something, I thought. Anderson might just have it right."

"I just hope Molly knows what she's in for," Greg said.

"Molly does a good job seeing through his bullshit. I don't think we'll have anything to worry about her. It's him I worry about. He's actually very emotional."

"And there's lover boy, now. Let's see if he brings it up," Greg grinned.

Sherlock frowned the moment he sat down and glanced at them both. "Well, by the looks of you two gits, I assume the gossip mill has already worked its way back to you that Molly and I are in a relationship."

"You're right, of course. And how is the end to your self-imposed celibacy treating you?" John asked.

"Very pleasant. Not as distracting as I expected. In fact, it may actually be helping me focus. I stayed at Molly's last night, she went to work this morning, I composed an entire concerto, got bored, then fortunately found a case and already solved it."

"You did?" Greg said, shocked.

"Yes, one of your cold cases, Greg. I think you'll be very interested. Results on your desk. However, I'm afraid I can't stay and chat about it, I am meeting Molly at the lab for some follow-up experiments and dinner. Oh, speaking of which, Molly wants to have a dinner party soon at her flat, just fair warning, she'll make a big deal of it. Rosie's welcome too, of course," Sherlock nodded, then headed out the door.

"He's… very… normal," Greg said, surprised. "As in, not normal for him, but normal for a human being. A human being in a relationship."

"It's good for him. Helps his social skills to practice so much," John smiled. "Mary would be thrilled. She always thought he'd wake up one day and realize he'd never do better than Molly Hooper. She was just hoping it happened before Molly woke up and realized she could do better than Sherlock Holmes."

"I think he's finally made himself the man Molly deserves. A good man."

"Cheers to that, mate."


End file.
